


For the Peaceful Dawn

by Kisuru



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Desperation, Emotional Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extended Scene, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Hatred, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-05 20:17:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11020818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisuru/pseuds/Kisuru
Summary: Itachi reaped their clan to extinction on the night of the Uchiha massacre. Now, there is one last thing he must strip Sasuke of before he officially abandons him. Sasuke thinks he is being forced to submit to a brazen murderer—but trusting perception on the surface of the truth may be unwise around Itachi.





	For the Peaceful Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cerberusia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/gifts).



Stiffening and cold corpses littered the streets of the Uchiha compound in rows; the rank stench of thick blood wafted, swirled, intermingled in the brisk air like a cloying monstrosity vowing vengeance.  
  
To be the harbinger of this immense misery…  
  
Itachi had endured missions before with bloodshed on an impressive scale, obviously—he had seen atrocities. But nothing outweighed the battering of his heartbeat against his ribcage begging  _why.  
  
_ Of course Itachi had steeled himself for it. He had embraced the consequences heaped upon his shoulders and actions that would ensue. But he still held conviction, just like his iron fist upon this night’s massacre.  
  
One day, everything would align. The square peg of the plan would fit into the future’s circle. The deed, the surreal pain of this bruising moment, would find solace. The light of redemption would never befall him. He neither wanted to reminisce or dwell on it.  
  
Yet… After shattering his personal ideals…  
  
Muscles tensed in his lower legs and bit into his ankles. Itachi willed his legs to move before Sasuke found him red-handed, but he hovered there in his unrehearsed but perfect stance (how does one truly “practice” slaughtering family?) for an eternity of a second too long to not be staged, face stoic but thoughts latched on peaceful days now corrupted. He was a looming shadow visible under the midnight blue sky seeping in through the far right window.  
  
Sentimentality. How foolish such an unreasonable emotion was to cleanse from the system. And he—  
  
The glaringly obvious pattern of steps he had heard countless times while playing with his younger brother neared. Frantic in their haste yet careful as an underlying precaution, bewildered as if he anticipated Itachi’s ambush from any angle.  
  
At least, he should feel panic.  
  
Sasuke must mask himself better than that.  
  
Futilely, he wished…  
   
Sasuke could run, but never hide. His vision on this day would be imprinted as a fetching, tied-in-a-bow necessity. And that was all there _should_ be to it.  
  
Lies and frustration and disgrace—  
  
Sasuke was strong, or he could be. Itachi couldn’t help but feel a swell at the reminder. That was what he was taking advantage of; his weakness.  
  
A bravery he had rarely, if ever, helped nurture.  
  
None of these battling emotions crossed his face as Sasuke slid open the door and approached him from behind. Itachi’s eyebrows knitted, expression trained and unfazed, lips pressed into a grim, fierce line.  
  
Itachi bit back a hasty laugh. A hysterical laugh and a choking sob both threatened to escape, because he barely registered how pleadingly  _hopeful_  that sounded originating from his own muddled mind.  
_  
Sasuke will be strong_.  
  
But for strength, he must know hatred.  
  
A protective twinge reared from its slumber and roared in the back of his head. The clan that had touted him a prodigy would have seen his fledgling aspirations asinine while stooping to these methods. But selfishness for insuring Sasuke’s well-being had always taken precedence as the one feral beast Itachi had never fully tamed from himself.  
  
_(How does one cleanse “truth” from the heart?)_  
  
“Big brother,” Sasuke puffed, fearful. Eyes scanned their lifeless parents’ bloodless bodies. Eyes wide, he froze. “The clan… and m—mother and father. Who would…“  
  
Itachi forced himself not to tune that voice out. That voice judged him, and he must accept it directly.  
  
Raw terror encased in agitation and trepidation.  
  
Sasuke’s puppy dog eyes shot lasers of concern at him, begging for quick answers. He shook under the building stress. His lips trembled, slack-jawed.  
  
Killing Sasuke was mandatory.  
  
Logic said Itachi  _should_.  
  
Predatory eyes boring into Itachi’s soul years into the future made a shiver race down Itachi’s spine.  
  
“I truly,” Itachi responded while turning slowly on his heel, “have a very foolish younger brother.”  
  
Sasuke frowned. His mouth rounded, but Itachi was too quick, stepping close in a few deliberate strides.  
  
He was woefully unprepared and too trusting under the impression of defenselessness, not shielding himself from the blur that appeared behind him.  
  
Itachi’s hand darted towards Sasuke’s arm and gripped him by the elbow roughly enough to leave a handprint. He twisted his arm painfully to the side.  
  
The bones rattled under his skin and, in succession, the resulting gruesome creak of a snap shattered the silence. Sasuke yelped and doubled over. He breathed in shallowly, rapidly. He cried out and collapsed against Itachi’s side without another force to lean on. His face twisted, and his expression struggled to comprehend his body’s staggering.  
  
“I—Itachi?” Sasuke asked nervously. He obviously knew something was amiss, but he teetered on the precipice of uncertainty and wakefulness, a sluggish decision that would put him the verge of death with any ninja. Any other opponent ninja, at any rate.  
  
As if to add insult to injury, Sasuke’s hand found leverage on his shirt and held on out of reflex.  
  
In his memories, _Sasuke threw his arms around him and buried his face in his shirt. Sasuke bridged the gap frequently, and Itachi never failed to feel awe and a bit flustered when he did as he pleased.  
_  
Love and happiness….  
  
Such fragile emotions.  
  
Itachi hesitated for a fraction of a second that felt more like he might be dying himself. It didn’t show in his motions or a delay but the chill slithered down his limbs. Hesitating here because of a little pain would not be worthy of so many deaths of the ones he had called family—he  _needed_  to dive into the fray.  
  
No turning back.  
  
He had already tripped the red lever, and Itachi would hammer that into his skull permanently.  
  
Relief for Itachi switched from true fear in Sasuke’s brain. The unwavering red glow of his eyes intently watched him. Instead of questioning him like he had expected, Sasuke backed up on his heel and fled the way he had come in, footfalls pounding.  
  
At least, that was what Sasuke  _intended_ to do in his frenzy. Itachi jerked Sasuke’s arm towards him as his foot dropped over the threshold. He forced him off-balance backwards towards the room’s middle.  
  
Itachi kicked Sasuke’s legs right out from under him. Caught off-guard he tumbled to the ground, elbows hitting the edge of the puddle of blood closest to their father’s leg. Itachi ignored his pitiful groan and knelt, shoving Sasuke down by the shoulders.  
  
Sasuke defiantly squirmed under him. He fought, but it was a weak effort, and he got absolutely nowhere.  
  
“I don’t…” Sasuke wheezed. The hazy wheel of confusion turned in his voice. He resorted to pleading instead of negotiations. “Why are you… how are you…? What happened to you!?”  
  
Fantasy and reality. Both were intertwined.  
  
“For you to have neglected noticing until now shows the difference in our power.” Itachi’s face hovered above Sasuke’s. His eyes flashed crimson and hardened like stone, face firm and poised. Overconfidence. “I only played the role of your gentle older brother to test your strength.”  
  
Sasuke’s body went slack. Hollow breath cascaded Itachi’s cheek. He resisted the urge to ignore common sense and follow instinct, the need to have that breath against his neck while he hugged Sasuke and cried about duties out of his control.  
  
Sasuke shook his head vigorously.  
  
“You never played a role,” Sasuke told him. He sounded so acutely sure of this simple fact. “You’re the greatest big brother in the world! So… you…”  
  
Denying it when the evidence was in plain sight…  
  
“I will hurt you,” Itachi said with an expression so void of emotion it burned. And to prove it, he lazily pulled Sasuke’s arm back by the forearm.  
  
The reaction was instant. Sasuke gasped, Panicked, tears welled up in his eyes. “You’ve never hurt me. When we trained, or fought...” His face brightened a a little bit from a past happy memory. “I...!”  
  
A hot and cold assessment of the ages.  
  
Blame and hate him blamehate _blamehate_ him _._  
  
Itachi’s hand encircled his throat. He applied enough pressure to choke him and secure a decent bruise.  
  
Sasuke’s eyes bulged as a wild cough choked him, fighting desperately to refill his lungs with sweet air. The muscles in his neck tenses, jugular pulsing.  
  
_The me you knew is dead as of tonight_ , Itachi willed more for his own closure than Sasuke’s benefit. He swallowed thickly. A racing heartbeat proved he was alive and warm to the touch, but he felt discarded, icy skin on the back of his neck prickling.  _Never forgive me_. _Despise me with every single breath_.  
  
Yes, he never had taken any moment for granted despite that their time had been cut so short. Itachi had taken his mantle as big brother seriously.  
  
( _One must walk solely down the black tunnel of darkness—the path light and truth cannot follow.)_  
  
“You were  _my_  pain, Sasuke. I ignored you. Lied.”  
  
Itachi’s long nails sunk into the pliant skin through Sasuke’s shirt. He teared up at the pain raking at his skin, pooling up blood against the surface.  
  
“You never suspected the truth; you hung onto my image in vain.” Itachi tuned out Sasuke’s garbled response. He shrugged flippantly. “Pathetic, little brother. Believing in flimsy promises. Wasting the scraps of potential you may have possessed, and that’s why I never made time to help you.”  
  
Sasuke flinched. Pain dizzily flittered across his face. The words caught in his throat were unforthcoming. Imperceptibly, Itachi released his windpipe in the right way to let him inhale slightly easier.  
  
Itachi needed him to stay awake. His company.  
  
Stay longer together. Just a bit. Even if it hurt...  
  
Sasuke winced while stringing together a sentence. His teeth chattered and he clutched his aching arm close. “You were with me when it mattered!”  
  
And he was there now making the situation worse.  
  
And in the future he would be an obstacle to destroy.  
  
Would their suffering truly usher in a peaceful dawn?  
  
“No,” Itachi clarified. “I can’t stand to look at you.”  
  
Sasuke shrunk back as if Itachi had socked him. His cheek brushed the floor, eyes watery under the lids.  
  
Itachi may as well have also pierced his own chest.  
  
His memories were powerful counterattacks to his declarations. He recalled calm summer evenings bathed in steamy heat and chirping cicadas. Back then, he would have homework for the academy, or scarce moments of relaxation from strenuous strategizing. Like clockwork, Sasuke had always pranced around him, prattling about improvements he needed help with. He listened at those intervals while being fascinated Sasuke’s thirst for knowledge extended from him. Itachi had quietly delighted in Sasuke binding himself to his limited wisdom.  
  
At least, he had never given himself too much credit.  
  
But Sasuke wasn’t little enough anymore to tug at his shirt sleeve like a toddler and practically beg Itachi with a disarming grin to  _please_   _notice me_.  
  
And now he could no longer notice him anyway.  
  
Itachi growled. It was low and ruthless, but the flare of anger he had resigned to forge down pushed its way from confines of his core. He slammed Sasuke back against the ground. The wind beaten out of his lungs at this, Sasuke hissed and wheezed. He reached up and grabbed Itachi’s hand to force him away but Itachi’s hand was firmly planted.  
  
Despite Sasuke’s pain, he resisted.  
  
Physically maiming Sasuke would accomplish his goal. Seething rage would be the only acceptable result, and Itachi did not leave things halfhearted.  
  
But it was not the necessary adhesive that would bind Sasuke to Itachi’s trail for the years to come.  
  
In this world, there was another way to break the spirit beyond mortal flesh wounds and bones.  
  
Itachi blinked, rendered momentarily awestruck.  
  
He must scrap the idea. Immediately.  
  
His astonishment with himself outweighed all else.  
  
Unequivocally _repulsive_.  
  
Wrong not just for conforming to morals or the remaining slivers in their brotherly bond. Because… Leaving behind bruises would be impersonal—but performing such an act would seal a profound, irreversible darkness within the both of them.  
  
And yet… itachi wondered deep down somewhere like the fragile ripples of the water after combing fingers over the mirror of his own reflection…  
  
( _How far does this darkened tunnel lead?_ )  
  
Itachi released his throat. He traced a path from the red marks on Sasuke’s throat to his chin and cheek. He caressed the soft skin. In any other context, his movements would be affectionate, but the lifeless resolution in his red eyes spoke volumes  
  
Sasuke panted and stared at him. Even enduring this, skepticism danced in his eyes. As if transfixed in their proximity Itachi watched the way in which his lips parted and his slender tongue flicker over small chapped, pink lips. It was a rush of observation that enveloped Itachi’s focus and caused him a brief, overwhelming second of dizziness rivaling Saskue’s bewilderment at being attacked and downright betrayed. Meanwhile, Sasuke drank in his perfectly apathetic, icy simper and grit his teeth.  
  
False hope rectified nothing.  
  
“You are transparent—you lack insight for the big picture.” He poured copious flat, mocking boredom into his tone. “Struggle against the tides of where your pitiful power has steered you.” In a certifiably disturbed way this was praise—let this  _teach_  him a lesson. In any way possible, he had to provoke the tiny flame that would explode into raging spite.  
  
Sasuke finally looked like the last shred of freedom had been snipped from his heartstrings. He locked eyes with Itachi. His body seized up, shocked. For his brother to outclass him when the odds were stacked against him would take a miracle.  
  
Not that Sasuke was doing much to disarm Itachi. And that in itself was an impossibility (Itachi did not become fazed, he was ever alert) but he was enraptured with the feel of Sasuke’s smooth skin.  
  
Itachi snatched his wrists. He squeezed and pinned them down to the ground, fully immobilizing him from hitting him, holding down his pressure points. Itachi’s shirt sleeve dipped in the pool of blood draining from their parents. The reminder made him march onward even more critically than before, blood boiling  
  
This was indeed a sore spot. He believed Sasuke would someday shatter those imposing sha  
  
Itachi’s fingers dug into Sasuke’s wrists. The warmth of his skin begged for touch, cool yet inviting.  
  
Once again, he homed in on Sasuke’s lips. Teeth pointed over his tongue. Sasuke mouthed the words he could not pronounce, face suspended in ambivalent abandon. Itachi’s breath hitched.  
  
It was sinful to make him feel loathed and abused. But it was the bitter potion Itachi could not help but swallow, hyperaware to each and every detail.  
  
Maybe if he brought Sasuke a small bit of pleasure amidst the mountain of pain he might be able to justify it. It was faulty logic. Itachi was fully aware he was grasping at straws to make amends in his own mind and appraise his cruelty. But he… just…  
  
At any rate, they would suffer together.  
  
Itachi hovered above the juncture of Sasuke’s neck. Smoldering eyes trained on the stretch of his neck and dip of his collarbone. The impending taste of skin was hypnotizing to a fault, though thankfully not as enticing as Sasuke’s lips. Itachi found comfort in that little bit of knowledge no matter how depraved it was. Still, he could claim this new territory easily.  
  
Head lowering, his teeth scraped Sasuke’s skin. The bite was sharp and so hard it drew a bead of blood. He licked a trail down the reddened skin. The pit in his stomach heaved at what his actions entailed—out of sickness or allure, he could not tell which _and why should he feel entranced by it_ —and he savored the taste of tender sweaty skin despite himself.  
  
Accusation burned in Sasuke’s eyes. Fueled by that, Itachi bit harder on reflex and just  _because_. He didn’t understand it, but it enveloped his body in waves.  
  
Even with his hand held down to the floor, Sasuke Sasuke bunched a fist into Itachi’s shirt. Pure disbelief crossed his face. His twisting suddenly became erratic to match his discomfiture. He dug his nails into the fabric of Itachi’s shirt, and he kicked him in the shin. Minor pain shot through Itachi’s side and leg to minimal effect other than him noticing it.  
  
Itachi crushed Sasuke’s arms into the ground. He placed both legs on the side of Sasuke’s and trapped him under his total weight, straddling him to make his point absolutely clear. Maybe he should do something to keep his hands tied, but having them free would enforce that he was powerless.  
  
Either way, Itachi welcomed his rebellion rather than feel the need to impede on it. This should not be easy, or fair. In fact, Sasuke acting like a natural brat was a deserving comfort over his admiring smiles.  
  
Even at his age, it was haunting how Sasuke evoked feelings he never knew he had possessed. Sasuke refused to stop conveying hope and love, and Itachi didn’t understand, but Sasuke was with him and that was about as much as he really wanted to know.  
  
Soon, he would extinguish those feelings, but…  
  
For now, he would embrace it.  
  
Losing sight of the massacre would provide the distraction he desperately craved; stuff the creeping pain in its cramped box and assuage the anxiety.  
  
He never would erase it all, but it was as a full-proof plan as amy. Shaky, tepid ambitions were cast aside. Whatever he decided for the betterment of Sasuke’s future, he would not abandon him.  
  
“Stop,” Sasuke manqged in small voice.  
  
Why did Itachi get a chill at hearing his voice, yet he couldn’t stand the weakness in it at the same time?  
  
Itachi shifted and licked the shell of Sasuke’s ear.  
  
“You’re making me feel like you don’t want me here,” Itachi told him, feigning rejection. “Isn’t this what you always wanted from me? To make you feel special?”  
  
Sasuke may have taken the bait on the grounds of old wounds that Itachi reopened with that statement. His expression flickered from anger to doubt.  
  
“I—I’m not…” Fuzzily, Sasuke blinked at the notion he may want Itachi gone, mind quite not processing. Nonetheless he seemed all too aware Itachi was so close and personal. “I don’t want anything special! All I ever… I wanted from you… I really, really…”  
  
Sasuke trailed off, dazed. His face screwed up.  
  
Itachi didn’t want to hear another word. He genuinely didn’t want to, because the impulse to grant Sasuke whatever he wanted would eat him alive if he knew.  
  
Heart beating out of sync with his body, he released one of Sasuke’s hands. Elbow pinning his arm, he shifted to unsheathe a kunai from its hiding place on his foot. It glinted in the faint light from outside.  
  
Sasuke’s eyes widened.  
  
Itachi clawed at Sasuke’s turtleneck of his shirt and clasped the fabric up in his hand. Sasuke choked, startled, but it was more out reflex for fear of what Itachi would do with a blade at his disposal. He lazily grazed the skin right above the edge of the collar.  
  
“Your feelings don’t matter in the slightest,” Itachi assured confidently, deceptively soothing. His skin crawled at how unabashedly  _flawless_  he sounded without hours of practice poured into the endeavor. He hated himself for it. “I’ll tell you what you wanted. You wanted me to look at you. For me to care.”  
  
Despite himself, the faintest red tinge lit up Sasuke’s cheeks. He didn’t outwardly confirm accuracy of it .  
  
Itachi impassively watched, tgough chuckled. He expertly pressed the blade deeper into Sasuke’s skin without soliciting a scratch. “Perhaps you have gotten your wish. You don’t deserve it, but I am looking at you right now.” He waited for Sasuke’s hope to rise before squashing it into pinpricks of despair, and he swore he  _may_  have seen relief quirk the corner of his mouth. “But you aren’t worth killing in battle, so I’ll look at you in a different way.”  
  
He pulled the collar towards him. Hypnotized by the way Itachi’s eyes shone quite brightly at their close angle, Sasuke’s body lifted and followed the motion.  
  
As if the shirt fabric were shredding paper, the kunai pushed downwards and sliced directly through.  
  
The shirt ripped under his long nails. The thin shirt tore in a straight line from the top to the bottom. Both sides of Sasuke’s shirt fell to his sides like dark butterfly wings, frayed and identically unwoven.  
  
Itachi wondered now if he were the dizzy one. Something about this was as intimate as he had foreseen, and he couldn’t help but replay his fierce  _repulsive_  chant over and over.  
  
Would this have been right if Sasuke had given him proper permission and wasn’t being forced into it?  
  
The thought  _stabbed_ him. Even his eyes throbbed, and the reason was no overactivated sharingan.  
  
He wanted to correct himself and affirm  _you aren’t worth killing because you don’t deserve to die, all I do is care about your happiness and safety_ but those words should never risk reaching the brilliant bars of silvery moonlight falling across his back  
  
Sasuke’s thrashing weakened. Once again, he tried to hook a finger along Itachi’s sleeve hem, or make him lose balance, but he barely moved. He peered sideways, cheek pressed against the floor.  
  
He carelessly tossed the kunai off to the side and inspected the spoils of his venture. While he was appalled, he was equally curious now that he had taken the plunge this far into murky waters. In any case, he supposed that was a deep step forward.  
  
A plane of unblemished, pale skin met his gaze. His chest rose and fell above a flat, smooth stomach.  
  
Itachi’s throat went dry; he dug a nail into the plushy pad of his palm to wake himself out of his reverie.  
  
A rough hand inched along the plane of his stomach. The line of Itachi’s hand rubbed the contours of his stomach and navel, the dip of his ribcage, the tender undeveloped pink nipples that responsively rose.  
  
The pure electricity that surged up his fingers from  _brushing_  the quivering skin was overwhelming. For years he had touched Sasuke’s bare flesh countless times without thinking about it like this, or thinking such a thing. He had never known a feeling akin to the tightness constricting his throat or the feel of Sasuke’s heat drawing out his impulses.  
  
No, it should not be like this, but it was futile to change his mind on the matter, and he didn’t know how to block the dazed white flashes in front of his eyes and the mix of thrill and distaste at once.  
  
Itachi heartbeat pounded in his ears. He must. It was inexcusable to divert from his chosen path.  
  
His ring finger latched onto Sasuke’s nipple. Sauke screamed and automatically squirmed underneath him, but this awoke something else within him.  
  
Itachi’s middle and ring finger found leverage and tweaked the nipple forcefully, painfully, the once unblemished skin reddening in pain. The nipple went shamefully erect under his coaxing and pinching.  
  
Sasuke’s eyes widened, a slight whine in his voice. “You can’t…’ He did not know how to curb his body’s reaction. He knew he should not react to something like that if he didn’t want it in the first place, and Sasuke seemed to get Itachi truly was in control.  
  
Itachi simply ignored him.  
  
Staring down through half-lidded eyes, Itachi’s hand decisively gripped the waistband of Sasuke’s pants. Itachi’s eyes darkened and grew fiercely cold.   
  
Sasuke kicked him directly in the back of the knee. Itachi used his movement to shove his knee in between Sasuke’s legs, pushing them apart.  
  
Yes, logic. Logical steps were the way he operates through slashing a lifelong gash in Sasuke’s heart.  
  
But the walls of that narrow focus crushed him in…  
  
The world blurred Sasuke’s expression out of focus. Itachi’s hands shook under and he faltered.  
  
Itachi… just… couldn’t breach that far…  
  
He had dedicated so much, and prepared himself psychologically, but accordingly  _faced_  with it… He had the ability to do it. After all, his hands were  _right_  there pn Sasuke’s thigh.  
  
Itachi could not do this him. Not with his bloody hands. Would he be able to live knowing it?  
  
The curse on his tongue was inaudible. His limbs outright spurned his logic and refused to move, nor did his body budge according to Itachi’s will.  
  
Itachi must finish what he started.  
  
If he couldn’t commit himself to it, then how?  
  
( _He was now submerged in that darkness; he had become one with it, reaching out of his own self_.)  
  
… Warp reality into an illusion.  
  
“You stopped looking at me,” Itachi observed quietly, cupping Sasuke’s cheek. He forced him to look up directly at him. Two sets of black eyes clashed like magnets, attracted yet pushing each other like polar opposites. “What happened to adoring me? Don’t you love me, little brother?  Don’t ignore me.”  
  
Anger reignited aplenty, Sasuke bristled. Itachi had never sincerely seen Sasuke so provoked. Not even when he had so often rejected his company.  
  
“S—Shut up.” Sasuke’s voice adopted a low quality. Energy briefly replenished, nails redug into Itachi’s arm as Sasuke flinched at the venom in his own frightened words. He shouldn’t channel anger at his beloved brother, but there he was underneath him, in a position without a direction out. “I can’t… _Why_!?“  
  
Such a simple question did not have an answer.  
  
Itachi did not dignify it a second’s thought.  
  
The world shifted into the realm of genjutsu. The room remained largely the same because Sasuke would easily catch wind of a location switch. Being violated in front of their mother and father’s dripping and heatless bodies would burn Sasuke enough.  
  
Indeed, he was Sasuke’s protector.  
  
Itachi shakily stood to his feet and allowed the genjutsu to took over. Normally, he was more composed, but fire blazed through his veins.  
  
Sasuke writhed underneath the illusion of himself. The illusion of Itachi had yet to follow his instructions like a puppet waiting for the strings to be raised.  
  
An explicable… anger… stirred inside of him. Why would he go to so many lengths to make sure no one hurt Sasuke if his own illusion did? But he had just failed touching him with his own hands. Nothing honestly made sense… Despite it, this must be it.  
  
Itachi did not know where he should be, where his feet should be while they remained steady but threatened to tip over. He felt displaced in the tiny room and everything was hot and suffocating, moreso than him performing this genjutsu routinely. It was normal, and should be normal, but Sasuke was never simply something “normal” for him that he cast to the side. And this… He was too close, and entirely too far for comfort, but his feet carried him. He sidestepped backwards until he wandered towards the corner.  
  
He did not want to look. Itachi bit lip, averting his eyes.  
  
Looking would shatter the resolve he had. He was a better trained shinobi than that. The Anbu had taught him that as well as father. This would save his last kin, the one little brother he would never feel like it was a waste to put himself on the sacrificial table for. He was doing the duty of a shinobi and he must embrace it.  
  
_Don’t look back_.  
  
Itachi was able to direct his illusion without looking.  
  
Never look back. Shinobi worth their weight in salt never became amassed in the what-ifs. They looked forward to brighter days.  
  
_I am… was… I want to be…  
_  
He blinked and cupped his fists.  
  
The magnetic pull on his eyes to look back at Sasuke almost made Itachi believe his eyes were bleeding from trying to cycle and tumble around in their sockets. The liquid was sense and heavy and a stray droplet skirted the bottom of his chin.  
  
Blood was thicker than water, they say. His hands were coated in blood but he was nonetheless no closer to it and the water proved forbidden words that he could never tell the holder of said blood.  
  
Each time he took a step his feet reacted as though he had been struck by an electric jutsu—the muscles in his ankle threatened to waver. Regardless, he was esteemed Uchiha Itachi and he never bowed to such weak emotional _human_ impulses that forced—  
  
Sasuke screamed.  
  
Itachi faltered mid-step. His rebellious eyes defied him.  
  
The genjustsu Itachi pushed Sasuke down at the bare chest. Sasuke valiantly tried to fight back despite his injury and overtaxed mind, but he was too shaken too function, and the illusion overtook his small and innocent body easily.  
  
Illusion Itachi’s fingers wrapped around the waistband of Sasuke’s pants. He shifted a bit from straddling him and pulled the fabric down his legs despite the restless kicks that wildly flew at him, exposing creamy and smooth coltish legs as he did so.  
  
Itachi lapped a trail down Sasuke’s chest, down to the flat of his stomach and navel. He dipped his tongue inside and swirled his tongue around before returning to the tender skin of his chest.  
  
Itachi could taste the vile and sweet taste across his tongue like Sasuke was branded there in the center; skin and pinpricks of sweat and the vibrations of an overworked and frayed heart.  
  
Sasuke shivered under him. The illusion was neither hot nor cold, but the additional shock of his imagined warm breath against his skin sent him into overdrive. It was brutal like the intensity of a bonfire, the bite of cold night’s air seeming more inviting.  
  
“I can tie your hands to the ground. Do you remember when we used to hunt animals in the forest?” Itachi heard himself mocking all too earnestly, pinning Sasuke’s arms down to the floor. He allowed the meaning of those words to sink in for Sasuke.  
  
Emotion welled up in Sasuke’s eyes, and he looked as though he was about to spit out something that he just could formulate into proper words. To his dismay, he moaned in pain or frustration Itachi’s ministrations over one of his pert, pink nipples. Shame and fear instead crisscrossed his face and he looked horrified. The noise was strange and foreign to a seven year old; why would he make that noise, and for his brother hurting him?  
  
Itachi’s stomach did a lurch. He should wonder. He should _hate_.  
  
The illusion of himself looked far too self-satisfied. He lowered his head and bit the same nipple, and Sasuke yelped, clawing at Itachi’s arms. Itachi did not show being ruffled or annoyed in the least. “However,” Itachi continued, “this is the true difference in our power. You can’t break free from me and that is your truth.”  
  
If Sasuke had bindings, this whole moment would ruin the plan.  
  
Doing this in the most intimate way possible was important.  
  
Sasuke needed to see he could not protect himself with Itachi using nothing to restrict his movements. He was that useless.  
  
That sweet pale face swam in the background of Itachi’s mind. He always looked out for Sasuke’s well-being and everything that made him happy or angry. The way Sasuke craned his neck to glance over Itachi’s shoulder made him notice his flawless skin grow whiter and bloodless. Unnvervingly, he locked eyes with the real him made Itachi want him to be forced away from him.  
  
The illusion shifted off of Sasuke but gave him no time to recover. He yanked on the shirt scraps at Sasuke’s side and pulled him upwards. Itachi gripped him by the side and flipped Sasuke off the ground until he was wobbling on his skinny knees, head close to the cold floor, back inclined in an arch, ass hiked up in the air.  
  
For a second the vision from his illusion poured into Itachi’s mind. Itachi’s insides melted. He was lost, so terribly lost himself.  
  
Itachi sidestepped backwards. He bumped the wall behind him.  
  
The image of Sasuke sprawled under him even made Itachi’s jaw slack. It looked monstrous. Most of all, it looked like something no one other than him should ever see in Sasuke’s lifetime.  
  
( _His light is in front of him, but he can’t reach out his hand to touch it, because if he does it will reject him and stab him_.)  
Itachi dug into his side so hard he drew an unbroken scar across his abdomen. Anger and astonishment boiled in his veins.  
  
No one else should be like this with Sasuke, ever. Not himself.  Destroying his own illusion would be upmost pleasure right then. None of it was real—but the shirt on his back imitated the prison bars which isolated the sticky heat glued to his traitorous skin.  
  
“I—Ita—ta—“ Sasuke could barely speak. He sputtered, hanging onto the one word he understood. Glistening looked back. Trying to squirm away he tried to crawl forwards; the pants at his ankles stopped him from moving quickly and he managed only a little.  
  
Itachi’s impassive face revealed not one thing Sasuke wanted to know. He scooted forward and wrapped an arm around Sasuke’s neck, pulling his head higher. Sasuke’s eyes bulged as the arm around his neck tightened and he choked, breathing rapidly.  
  
Itachi put his mouth next to Sasuke’s ear and nibbled it. He breathed slowly to prove he had the upperhand, plastering a thoughtful expression on his face. He chuckled as he struggled under him and gagged each time his windpipe hit his arm.  
  
Snaking his arms around his precious little brother, he made him turn in the direction of their parents. “Perhaps I’m not totally heartless.” Reflexively, Sasuke visibly relaxed at the bit of reassurance he was given that sounded sincere, but this did not last long. “I’ll let you say goodbye to them—goodbye while I fuck you raw, Sasuke. Look at them and remember what I did.”  
  
Sasuke went rigid. He leaned into Itachi’s arm, but only gagged harder, black hair splayed out over his eyes and neck.  
  
“No!” Shutting his eyes tightly, Sasuke whimpered helplessly. Sasuke may not have known what Itachi meant by that, but he knew that anything with their parents was off-limits. His graceful body twisted and lashed out for escape but he found himself only further locked into Itachi’s grip. “I don’t want—don’t make me—“  
  
The stone in the pit of Itachi’s stomach fused into a lead weight. Conviction to not stop cajoled him to  _keep going_  for perhaps a wild reason beyond the one he had originally started this. Why he even  _think_  that. But instinct drove his motions involuntarily.  
  
“Perhaps that’s why you were always weaker than me and could never catch up with me,” Itachi told him, leaning over him. His whisper was downright cruel. “You never took anything seriously. How can anyone, including me, love you if you can’t accept it?”  
  
The sound deep in Sasuke’s throat was a groan and a screech that never made it out as he clamped his lips closed.  
  
Smirking against the curve of Sasuke’s neck, Itachi’s hand reached around his thin frame and wrapped around his cock. He stroked and squeezed him while Sasuke’s hips parted. Sasuke dropped both hands to the ground, back arcing higher, on all fours without Itachi even having to force him. The anger shook in his body but he was powerless to move Itachi’s hands away.  The stirrings in Sasuke’s body bounderline made him come far too early, the precome beginning to weep out of his slit.  
  
Swiping across Sasuke’s shaft, Itachi licked at his fingers. Sasuke watched him wearily at the corner of his eye, quaking under the heat and power Itachi had forcing him into such a position. He was hot, and the core of his body coiled just a little. Sasuke stifled a sob and clutched at the floor files as an anchor lever.  
  
Itachi faked a nauseated grimace. Once again, the look was to convey Sasuke was not good enough to even pleasure him.  
  
“It isn’t enough to satisfy me,” Itachi said anyway, gripping onto his hips and holding him tightly there. “I’ll take everything I want from you, Sasuke. You should be grateful I’m this close to you.”  
  
The taste of salt echoed in Itachi’s mouth. The feeling of it rang in his whole being, his mind. He could only pant a bit, thoroughly disgusted and wondering of the taste at the same time.  
  
It was not sweet. Not by a long shot. But it was Sasuke.  
  
Sasuke, his little brother.  
  
The brother Itachi more than anything would be hammered by the guilt and sin for if it made Sasuke live a happier, beautiful life.  
  
He barely believed he was imagining this for Sasuke’s sake but the actions poured out him more quickly than he understood himself. Dizziness made him nearly lose his balance and he had to hold onto the wall. He was out of control. Bizarre goosebumps went up his arms, hot, every contour of his body in a blaze.  
  
Only Sasuke was supposed to feel this. Not him.  
  
By that point the illusion of himself reflected this in the excitement in his posture, groin rubbing against Sasuke’s ass shamelessly. With his free hand, the illusion Itachi unzipped himself and pulled himself out, the hardened flesh pressing against Sasuke’s leg and making him jump out of confusion and another dash of fear.  
  
Itachi was well-hidden in his illusion. But he was exposed.  
  
The private flesh he only knew, exposed to this brother. Of course he had seen Sasuke naked before in baths, and Sasuke had seen him before, but Sasuke had never actually seen him _hard._  
  
“I don’t want to look at them,” Sasuke said softly, far too softly. He did not even know what he was saying anymore. He just didn’t.  
  
“Then think about this as your punishment,” Itachi replied.  
  
Itachi lifted apart his thighs and moved his hips, watching the way his ass spread and genitals dangled through his legs.  
  
Either because Itachi did not think of it, or really think it mattered if it was an illusion (Sasuke would not remember anyway most likely), he did not bother preparing him for the size of his own genitals. Sasuke was unable to move, and he already firmly had him completely in his grasp. He shoved into Sasuke’s tight entrance until he reached the furthest point he could in his small body, pushing in and out of him roughly, erratically, forcing Sasuke to submit to him without waiting for him to argue.  
  
Itachi staggered on the spot.  
  
It was true that he could keep the amount of damage to Sasuke at a minimum, but such a comfort did nothing for him.  
  
Penetrating him without mercy, Itachi sunk his hands into Sasuke’s hips hard enough to bruise him and forced him to ride him without rest. Sasuke cried out and keened each time he went too far into him too suddenly, pushing himself up to the hilt, taking advantage in Sasuke’s resistence and stretching him. The illusion of Itachi—or _was_ it him?—relished in the pleasure of it as Sasuke writhed and opened up to him with each deliberate, hard and fast thrust, Sasuke glistening from the sweat and pre-come between his legs.  
  
Sasuke’s body shuddered underneath him until he came undone and semen spilled out of his young and untrained body, jerking shakily and. His eyes rolled down back in his head and he fell into a sprawl at Itachi’s feet. Sasuke’s hips bucked, betraying pain or pleasure. The illusion of himself climaxed after him, pounding his hips into Sasuke in an irregular rhythm, waves of ecstasy hitting him as he rolled his hips and slammed into him one last time.  
  
Predictably, Itachi was certain Sasuke meant to close his eyes, but he stared at the bodies of their parents with wide, terrified eyes the whole time. His face reddened at the realization he was doing it, and he tried to look away from them, but he just couldn’t.  
  
Itachi’s mind went blank. Was the illusion getting that much out of its role, or was it him trying not to care? Yet, he was acutely aware of his surroundings in heightened arousal that he loathed, and he find himself far more immersed than he wished to admit.  
  
Sasuke’s nails dug into his palms. Itachi felt no pain from it, but he could feel the hatred in Sasuke’s eyes burn a whole into the wall.  
  
Sasuke being reduced to such a miserable state was enough to stab him through the heart like a hot iron fresh out of pit.  
  
And, his shinobi pride shattered into a thousand unrepairable pieces, Itachi collapsed to his knees, entire body weak even though he was not the one who had any part of a release.  
  
The wind was knocked out of him, and he wheezed.  
  
Everything in his body was hard and far too tight, and he wanted to relieve himself from it, but that would mean he would  
  
Itachi panted and heaved for air, willingly the hardness in his body to _stop please_. Everything hurt, and he needed to let go as well, but he buried his head into his shoulder and focused on what he had to do next. He silently accepted the reality of his truth.  
  
( _Shinobi did not give in. He who did was not a true shinobi_.)  
  
Itachi stared at Sasuke’s crumpled form. For the first time in his life, he wondered if he could be put back together. He was supposed to be the statue of hope for the Uchiha clan, the pillar that reigned over the legacy that now rode on his shoulders.  
  
Every piece of his soul had been crushed. Sasuke was boneless, and nothing in his body immediately tensed, moved, responded.  
  
Itachi wondered, did he look as horrible as Sasuke?  
  
The illusion of himself disappeared in a white puff of smoke and left absolutely nothing behind him. Spent, Sasuke glared up at him through glossy eyes. Then, grey eyes shut after seeking out Itachi’s face, and his head lolled to the side as he fainted.   
  
Not a particularly unheard of expectation. He was young and lacked much experience or stamina.  
  
So was he equally exhausted, but nonetheless… Sasuke would not remember the difference. If luck would have it, he would remember the hatred the most out of what they had done.  
  
Similarly, Itachi panted heavily. Drained physically and emotionally in a myriad of ways, he stared at Sasuke’s stripped form. For some reason he needed closeness himself, and he crawled closer albeit wobbly, relaxing against Sasuke’s side.  
  
He needed to leave without delay.  
  
Lingering would be toxic; the voice in the back of his head hollered at him to leave now or else he would stall and make excuses. Still, Itachi had to put down his shields for a short while and collect himself. Even Uchiha Itachi had to be human once and a while.  
  
Catching sight of Sasuke’s lips again did the trick, and his plan to escape shut down automatically. His throat grew unbearably parched, unbelievably more than the first time he had caught sight of them.  
  
Yes, Sasuke’s warmth trumped the cold darkness.  
  
The same sort of hunger filled his chest like earlier, but this time it was a quiet hum racing through his veins. Itachi suddenly understood the feeling.  
  
Prolonging the inevitable did not change fate.  
  
Though he would adopt a stoic expression going forward, and he was not positive he had effectively communicated it (to himself, to his vows), but he had been desperate to show any emotion. He was not flashy, yet he had needed to say  _something_  about the cacophony of regrets he had encompassed. For years he had harbored them: the expectation, the admiration, the drive to accomplish a goal.  
  
Itachi had failed to meet the raised bar, hadn’t he?  
  
Staying here...  
  
Itachi’s fingers carded through Sasuke’s hair. He played with the spiky, silken strands while gathering his thoughts. Idly, he smoothed out Sasuke’s hair to flawlessly frame his forehead and face and admired the way the strands seemed so quintessentially beautiful in its black shade compared to the rest of the clan—some the egotistical and self-centered clan members he had outright contradicted.  
  
Time passed and the moonlight scaled the wall.  
  
Blood smudges on the tatami soaked Into the straw.  
  
He brushed Sasuke’s forehead.  
  
Blinking out of his trance, Itachi realized his overtly neat handiwork. He sighed in disappointment—too much affection, he had to focus on the real goal—and threaded fingers further in Sasuke’s hair to ruffle the strands into disarray. Even in this moment of unearned peace, Itachi was irked at doing this on purpose. But this additional detail would set the scene. Evidence was essential for believability.  
  
He noted Sasuke’s chest rapidly rise and fall. His cheeks meanwhile puffed in and out as he inhaled coarse breaths. Itachi zoned in on those swollen, parted lips, and he licked his own out of natural reflex, the bogged down floodgates on Itachi’s endurance excruciatingly difficult to maintain.  
  
Until now admitting it was too shameful.  
  
Those lips were practically driving him insane.  
  
Itachi had to be a good big brother; he had already settled hurting Sasuke was out of the equation.  
  
Pushing away what he wanted came effortlessly, but the conflict once more hit like a whirlwind of razors.  
  
When he left, he had no idea when he would grab a glimpse of Sasuke again. It could take endless months to years. Maybe he would only see him once or twice, and one of those days would count as the paramount occasion of Itachi’s own death.  
  
It would be poetic justice to see Sasuke’s ripened abilities without Itachi’s influential stamp on it.  
  
Itachi may run out of luck after this. After today, Sasuke will never let him get this extremely close.  
  
Above that, he wanted to give Sasuke one thing.  
  
Or was he selfishly taking it? Did it matter?  
  
Nevertheless, it would be to the point.  
  
Itachi’s temptation exceeded common sense. One physical reminder of their last time together might stitch him over. He apologized with a brush to his little brother’s hairline and wrapped one arm around his upper back. Itachi lifted him. His eyelids went halflidded, examining Saskue’s exhausted (but faintly peaceful) face before letting the tsunami wash out his entire built up strength and sensibilities.  
  
The warmth of Sasuke’s lips filled Itachi with a blast of desire he had never experienced in his life.  
  
Sasuke’s lips were moist from screaming, and he tasted the traces of saliva and a tasteless dinner of rice he probably snapped up on the way home.  
  
Itachi preferred a tangier taste. All the same.  
  
Scrumptious and divine.  
  
The sweetest taste in the whole world.  
  
The kiss entirely skipped being chaste and tentative in experiment; he could not stop himself from the seething desire once he started. It descended into a ravenous craving for an indescribable secret he had been longing for in the obligations he was mixed up in. Sasuke knew nothing. He was innocent. But Itachi begged for clarity, clues, disapproval as he searched Sasuke’s blank face for his meaning.  
  
Itachi’s shivered from the jolt of pleasure.  
  
Maybe he _was_ alive and not a shell.  
  
Stealing this from Sasuke was unforgivable…  
  
Sasuke’s mouth was  _hot_  and succulent and open only for him in that moment. He could only feel the ice of bottled up anger from his body trying to tug him back to the reality, but he pushed that to the side like so many other things. Reality was wrong. He wanted fantasy, because Sasuke was there.  
  
Sasuke’s breath cascaded through his lips, and Itachi sought that as the lifeline that would keep him attached longer in his thorough intensity, tongue slipping through the barriers of Sasuke’s lips.  
  
The skin under his lips was sensitive and rich, but most all intoxicating. His tongue slid over the crooks in his teeth and reached far back enough to catch the curl of Sasuke’s smaller tongue and ensnare it.   
  
Itachi panted. He couldn’t breathe, and he cared not in the slightest. Dying like this in happiness would be fine. Itachi could not imagine stopping, and he let go of his sense of time and place completely.  
  
The lips underneath his twitched and parted.  
  
Sasuke’s eyes flew open. He stared back, gaze dull.  
  
Itachi caught sight of him, uncomprehending for a heartbeat. A film of water swam in front of his field of vision, and he felt something prickle relentlessly at the corner of his eye, but he just noticed Sasuke.  
  
Without warning Sasuke bit Itachi’s upper lip. Hard.  
  
Itachi tasted the metallic taste of blood. A trail of blood oozed between his lips and splashed on his tongue. Surprised, he carefully licked the blood off, his lip throbbing from the harsh impact of teeth.  
  
The pain was violent. It was the first pain he had felt that entire night besides the anger and sadness.  
  
And Itachi was stunned at his the swell of pride spreading from everywhere in his body at once.  
  
Sasuke was a fighter while cornered like this. He felt so much gratification at this—knowing Sasuke would not stand for that. To see this potential was proof Itachi needed to make Sasuke succeed later in life.  
  
“Hn,” he simply remarked. Anything else would have been more coherent, but Itachi was in no fresh state of mind to come up with something suitable.  
  
Sasuke’s eyes shifted in and out of spotting him. He settled on Itachi’s face. The sky outside the window and moonlight captured his attention long enough for him to weakly shake his head. Then, he glanced back to Itachi. Eyelids drifted shut again.  
  
Only gentle breathing grazed his cheek.  
  
Itachi admired Sasuke this time without feeling as trapped. The kiss in itself had changed something strange he was unable to correctly identify.  
  
From the start he had taunted Sasuke with the fact he would never match him. But Itachi  _had_  used his power and Sasuke  _had_ retaliated. He had been reluctant but strummed the instrumentals for perseverance.  
  
Contemplatively, Itachi smiled the slightest bit. “I will wait to see what you will someday be capable of.”  
  
For the last time Itachi brushed the dried tears from the corner of Saskue’s eyes. With those dark eyes, Sasuke had seen the destruction of their clan. The water in Itachi’s eyes swam double the amount. He would see a new future not for Itachi not to behold.  
  
Pressure built up in the bridge of his nose.  
  
_I’ll be waiting_. _Until you foster your hatred for me, I’ll hate myself twice the limit for you_.  
  
Itachi stood to his feet and dusted himself off.  
  
Reducing his brother’s pride to this sorry state invited pangs of weariness. The aftermath he had envisioned was not this, because every frazzled nerve in his body itched and ached horrendously.  
  
Special, he had called it. Their bonding time.  
  
Itachi’s shoulders twitched but did not slump.  
  
Was it pure, indisputable selfishness?  
  
To want things as a part of his self-made legacy that not a failure like himself could accomplish.  
  
Moat glaringly, give into desires when he had chained up all the others in barless cages.  
  
Yet a shred of _hope_ swayed in the wind…  
  
Ruefully, Itachi spared Sasuke one last look over. Sasuke lay limp and filthy, tatami mats still blotched in dark red under his huddled form. Broken mentality and thrown physically like a ragdoll. In the blinding moonlight, Sasuke’s sorrow and fear had melted into the precipice of a dark, fitful slumber.  
  
If the stars granted Itachi one last request; Sasuke will find one last peaceful dream before sunrise.  
  
His sigh was lost to the foggy darkness. The heady scent of death accompanied him on his uneventful journey out of the compound. Blood stained the bottoms of his sandals, but the heavy thoughts stewing at the back of his mind fended off noticing the puddles even with his eyes downcast.  
  
He had to hurry as though his feet were ready to burn in a bonfire, but he did not deserve the luxury of it. Failing to mourn his clan (failing to reminisce over what he just _did_ ) would be his truest crime and disgrace, and he could only accomplish that for each person in the final minutes he passed them.  
  
Face lifting towards the sky, he planned for next time.


End file.
